Alex the Austrian Engine
by CarsWorldFan
Summary: After Jock suffers a serious injury, the owners of the Arlesdale Railway decide to purchase a new engine to help out. But Alex isn't very friendly, and he struggles to get along with anyone, especially fitters, who he seems to fear more than anyone else. Can the other Arlesdale engines help bring Alex out of his shell, or will he keep his horrific secrets bottled up forever?
1. Chapter 1 - Jock's Injury

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to HiT Entertainment. The characters Jim and Ellie belong to Speckless Nougat. All other OCs belong to me.**

Chapter 1 - Jock's Injury

It was almost summertime on the Island of Sodor. All of the engines were working very hard as they helped to prepare the island for the rush of holiday visitors. However, not many of the engines were looking forward to the summer. More passengers meant more work, and more work meant less time to rest. Despite that, they didn't complain. Well, none of them except for James… And Gordon… And Percy… And…well, I think you get the picture.

On the Arlesdale Miniature Railway, Mike was the only engine complaining about the coming summer crowds. And he didn't let any of the others forget it.

"Frank should do some more of the work around here, so I don't have to take passenger trains!" he grumbled.

"Frank already does his fair share of hard work," Bert admonished him. "We all do."

"Perhaps it's time our owners built another engine," Jock suggested. "After all, I can't be expected to do all of the heavy work around here. And with Rex currently out of service while he undergoes his overhaul, it would be best to have another engine here as a spare just in case."

The other engines agreed. However, when they asked the Small Controller about the possibility of having a new engine built, he quashed the idea.

"Rex will be back at work before the holidays," he assured them. "I'm sure you'll all be able to manage our extra visitors. You've always managed them perfectly well in the past."

Disappointed, the engines got back to work. They had to ensure that the railway was looking its best for the summer visitors.

…

However, just a few days later, disaster struck. Jock was shunting together his train of coaches for his next journey, when he heard a loud 'crack' and a clatter. Less than a second later, something solid whacked him hard beneath his frame.

"Ouch!" Jock yelped. "What happened?"

"It sounds like you've broken a crank pin," Jock's driver said as he cautiously applied the brakes. He got down to look. Sure enough, one of Jock's side rods had come loose, and it had become jammed up underneath his running board. The driver instinctively reached out to remove it, but Jock yelped again as soon as he touched it.

"Ow! No, don't touch it!" Jock exclaimed. Now that the shock was wearing off, poor Jock could feel the full extent of his injury.

Jock's shrieks of pain soon brought the Small Controller running to the scene. He looked extremely concerned when he saw the extensive damage done to Jock's frame.

"I'm so sorry, sir," Jock apologised through his tears.

"It's all right, Jock," the Small Controller assured him. "This wasn't your fault. But I think we may have to try and find a spare engine after all now. I'll just go and arrange for one of the other engines to push you into the workshop."

…

Inside the Works at Crovan's Gate, Jim Pearson, the foreman, approached a team of workers around Oliver. They were talking and laughing with the Great Western Engine, who'd arrived at the Works only about an hour earlier for some minor repairs to his spark arrestor, and a fresh coat of paint.

"Ellie?" Jim called as he climbed up inside Oliver's cab.

Ellie Briggs, who was, unofficially, Jim's second-in-command, promptly jumped down off Oliver's front running board. 'Jumped' was probably the wrong word to use though, considering Ellie's age, but she was still fairly agile, and strong enough to climb all over the engines whenever she needed to.

"Yes, Jim?"

Jim reached into a special slot just below the roof inside Oliver's cab, which contained the Great Western engine's log book. All of the engines on Sodor had log books, carried inside their cabs. Even though the engines could usually tell the fitters what was wrong with them, the log books were an invaluable record for diagnosing when a problem first began. Since none of the engines ever enjoyed going to the Works, some of them were in the habit of trying to hide problems from their crew, or downplaying the problem. That was exactly what Oliver had done. As Jim glanced through Oliver's log book, he noted that Oliver had been suffering from steaming difficulties for the past couple of weeks. Sighing, he shook his head in disbelief.

"You probably wouldn't have needed to come here, Oliver, if you'd told your crew as soon as you were feeling poorly. It doesn't take long to change a spark arrestor in the yard. It could've been done by a couple of fitters one morning, and you would've been back at work that afternoon."

Even from inside the cab, Jim could feel that Oliver was genuinely ashamed. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

 _Until next time…_ Jim thought as Ellie joined him inside the cab. "Ellie, could you please organise your team, and get started on Oliver's repairs?"

"Of course. I was just doing that…" Ellie faltered.

"Until you were distracted, right?"

"Uh, yeah." Ellie chuckled sheepishly. She took Oliver's log book from Jim. "Sorry. We'll get started on it right now."

Jim's mobile phone rang then, making Oliver jump. He shuddered once he realised what the loud noise was.

"Don't like those portable phone things," Oliver mumbled. "What was wrong with the old phones you people used to have?"

Jim ignored Oliver's complaints, and he answered the phone. "Jim speaking…uhuh. I see… Well, if I leave now, I can be there in about half an hour. All right. I'll be there as soon as I can." After Jim had hung up, he climbed down from the cab. "Ellie?"

"Yes?"

"I'm going to have to leave you in charge for a couple of hours."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Jock's had an accident, and they need my expertise and advice to make him comfortable until he can be repaired."

"Oh no! How did it happen?"

"I understand that one of his crank pins broke."

Oliver winced in sympathy for the little engine. "I had a crank pin break once, when I was young, long before I came here. They're extremely painful."

"Which is why I need to get going. I'll just grab Jock's blueprints, and then I'll be on my way. You're in charge, Ellie."

Ellie nodded, and she turned her attention back to the workers around her. "Now…"

"Can we raid Jim's office while he's gone?" one of the female workers asked. "I've heard that he keeps bags of chocolates behind a false wall in his bar fridge."

"Maybe later," Ellie replied with a wink. "Right now, we do have much more important things to do."

"What could be more important than chocolate?"

Oliver cleared his throat. "Uh, me?"

Ellie couldn't contain her laughter a moment longer!

…

Meanwhile, inside the small workshop at Arlesburgh, Jock was concentrating on taking one deep breath at a time. It was the only way he could manage the excruciating pain he was in. He wished that he could talk to Rex, but the little green engine was in a coma (and in pieces), due to his heavy overhaul. Jock sighed unhappily. He hated seeing one of his friends like that, but he knew that these men only pulled engines apart to fix them up. It wouldn't be long before they put Rex back together again, and then he'd be able to get back to work.

One of the fitters came over to Jock. "Easy Jock," he soothed. "I'm afraid we can't do much until you're cool, but we can remove the damaged side rod, if you'll let us."

"Will it stop the pain?" Jock mumbled.

"No, but it should ease it a little."

"All right then."

The fitter pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves. Another fitter came over to help. Together, they yanked Jock's broken side rod off. Jock screamed.

"You said it wouldn't hurt much!" he shouted as he gasped for air.

"How should I know? I'm not an engine!"

If looks could kill, the fitter would've been fried in an instant. Unfortunately for the Small Controller, he chose that precise moment to enter the workshop.

"I heard a scream. Is everything all right in here?"

"That was me," Jock said bluntly.

"Oh. Well, uh, the Works' foreman is on his way. He should be able to do something to make you more comfortable."

"Taking me to pieces would be a great start!" Jock spat. "I wouldn't be able to feel anything then."

"Don't tempt me!" the fitter retorted, pointing a spanner directly at Jock's nose. The miniature engine snorted, and he screwed up his face. If his aim was to look cranky, he failed miserably. Being a miniature engine meant that nearly every expression they pulled ended up looking cute.

A car raced into the yard then. "Hopefully, that'll be Jim," the Small Controller muttered, and he hurried out of the workshop. He returned a moment later, followed by Jim, who was carrying Jock's blueprints. Jock had only met Jim a few times over the years, but he'd playing a very important role when Jock was built. In fact, Jim had been the very first person Jock had seen when he'd woken up for the very first time. Even so, the foreman always put Jock on edge. For some reason, he always felt intimidated by the man. Maybe it was because Jim knew every single aspect about Jock, both inside and out. That made Jock feel somewhat conspicuous whenever Jim was around him.

"All right then, Jock," Jim began as he placed Jock's blueprints down on a nearby workbench. "Let's see what you've done to yourself…" He whistled shrilly when he saw the extent of the damage to Jock's frame. "Wow! I haven't seen damage that bad since Edward shattered his crank pin…"

Jock rolled his eyes. "Are you gonna help me, or just stand there goggling?"

"Now, Jock…" the Small Controller said warningly. "Just because you're in pain, there's no need for rudeness."

"Don't worry about it," Jim replied dismissively. "He's actually quite tame compared with the verbal abuse some engines give us in the Works." He turned to face the small team of fitters. "How are you planning to repair him?"

The fitter who'd removed Jock's damaged side rod stepped forward. "We were planning to cut out the damaged area of his frame, and then weld a new section into place."

Jim shook his head. "That won't do. Maybe in the old days you could've gotten away with it, but even an engine as small as this one carries half of their weight on their frame."

"Who are you calling 'small'?" Jock sniffed.

"Jock, if you don't shut up immediately, I'll stuff a rag in your mouth!" the Small Controller threatened. Gulping, Jock promptly bit his tongue. Amazingly, that seemed to ease the ache in his frame.

Jim resumed talking. "For Jock's future benefit, you'd better do the job properly now. His boiler will need to be lifted and placed into a new frame. We can build his new frame at the Works, but it'll take us at least two weeks, depending on what other emergencies crop up."

"So, what you're saying is that Jock will be out of service for at least a month?" the Small Controller asked.

Jim nodded. "At best. I'd be guesstimating at least two months though."

"Two months?" Jock exclaimed in despair.

"I'm sorry, Jock," Jim told the little engine sadly. "We'll get you back to work as soon as possible though."

"And in the meantime, we'll be down at least one engine for the start of the summer holidays," the Small Controller mumbled to himself. Then, louder, he said, "I'm driving to Knapford to talk to Sir Topham. I should be back in about an hour."

…

Inside his office at Knapford, the Fat Controller was busy doing paperwork, and munching on a cinnamon doughnut, when the Small Controller knocked on the open door. Looking up, the Fat Controller smiled as the taller man entered the office.

"Fergus! It's good to see you. Come in, please, and take a seat."

"Thank you, Sir Topham. I hope I haven't disturbed you, because I've come to see you about a very serious situation that has developed."

The Fat Controller put the remains of his doughnut back on the plate. "Go on."

"I don't know if you've heard the news yet, but in case you haven't, Jock broke down earlier this morning."

The Fat Controller was immediately concerned. "I'm sorry to hear that. Will he be all right?"

"I believe so, although he is in a great deal of pain. He's being well looked after though. Jim Pearson is looking after him now. I'm sure he'll let you know if we need to send him to your Works, but I think the men I have should be able to repair him, under Jim's guidance. But what this means is that we're now down two engines, and with the summer holidays fast approaching…"

"I see what you mean," the Fat Controller frowned. Then he sighed thoughtfully. "What we really need is another engine for the Arlesdale Railway."

"I agree. But there are very few fifteen-inch gauge engines left, and those that are for sale are very expensive to purchase. Maybe we could hire one for the summer?"

"We could…" the Fat Controller paused as he pulled a small catalogue out of a drawer. "But you might like to see this first. It was sent to me just the other day by a friend of mine," he said, handing it over. The Small Controller began thumbing through it.

"This is just ex-army stuff up for auction from a deceased estate," he said, stating the obvious.

"Take a look at what's on page five."

The Small Controller turned to the page. He was surprised by what he saw. Astonished, he glanced up at the Fat Controller.

"We could go to London the day after tomorrow," the Fat Controller decided. "I'll let Sir Handel Brown know what's happened, since we'll need his co-operation if we're going to make a joint purchase."

The Small Controller frowned as he looked at the catalogue again. "It might be best to bring Jim along too. He'll be able to give us his expert opinion on its condition."

The Fat Controller nodded in agreement. "No doubt he'll want to bring along Ms Briggs with him."

"Who?"

"Mr Pearson's assistant. I think her first name is Ellie, or something like that. Surely you've met her?"

The Small Controller shrugged. "Probably, but I'm not great at remembering names. So, I guess we'll be catching the eleven o'clock express to London the day after tomorrow then?"

"Yes. The auction starts the following day, so we should have plenty of time to relax, and maybe we could do a bit of sight-seeing in the capital."

"Great! It's been years since I last went to London. Never liked cities much, but I could get my wife a nice gift from Harrods."

"That's settled then!"

The sound of a noisy argument outside caught both of their attention at that moment. The Fat Controller groaned audibly, and he stood up to leave.

"Excuse me, please. When I hear Thomas and Gordon raising their voices, I know that something bad is about to happen…"

Grabbing his top hat, the Fat Controller hurried out onto the platform. The Small Controller watched what happened next from the window. But he needn't have bothered. The Fat Controller's booming voice could be heard loud and clear.

"THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE! Stop teasing Gordon, and get back to your work! Those trucks aren't going to shunt themselves!"


	2. Chapter 2 - The Auction

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to HiT Entertainment. The characters Ellie and Jim belong to Speckless Nougat. All other OCs belong to me.**

Chapter 2 – The Auction

Early one morning, inside a large warehouse on the outskirts of London, a little black fifteen-inch gauge tank engine shivered in the dark. He'd known dread before, when he'd been much younger, and now that same dread had returned to him. He didn't know what was going to happen to him today. All he knew was that he was to be sold, along with countless ex-army vehicles, tanks and other World War 2 memorabilia. The horrible black Nazi swastikas painted on his tanks were a permanent reminder to him of everything he'd suffered during his life.

He'd been moved here from his home of nearly seventy years a week earlier, on the back of a lorry. His previous owner had sadly died a few weeks earlier, leaving instructions in his will for his entire private WW2 collection to be sold off. Considering the man had no family left, the money raised would then be donated to the charities he'd selected.

For the past week, the little engine had put up with countless strangers poking, prodding and looking at him. He knew that the auctioneer had put an estimated value on him of just five-thousand pounds – his scrap value. The thought of being scrapped brought tears to his eyes. After everything he'd been through, it seemed as though his final destination would be the scrapyard. He would be dismantled and cut up without ever having the opportunity to tell someone his horrific stories. His whole life, and the things he went through, would be forgotten forever, just like his brothers. The memory of his lost brothers made the poor little engine choke, and he finally broke down in tears. Luckily, none of the other vehicles being auctioned were alive like he was, so he was able to shed his tears in private.

At eight-thirty in the morning, the auction house was opened up for the day. Just like the previous days, a large crowd was already waiting to enter when the doors were opened. The little engine sighed despondently. Today's result would seal his fate.

Not many people came to look at him that morning. However, one man did show a keen interest in him, because he spent quite a bit of time examining him. But when the man tried to force him to open his mouth, the little engine snapped, and he bit the man's hand. Hard.

"Ow!" the man screeched. "Let go of me, you…" he slapped the little engine's forehead. Startled, the little engine released his grip, and the man managed to pull his hand free. He rubbed it vigorously. "You deserve to be scrapped!"

"On the contrary, you deserved that," a greying red-headed woman said as she approached them. The little engine glared crossly at the nasty man.

"This pathetic little engine just bit me!" the nasty man protested to the woman.

"I'd have done exactly the same thing if you'd been trying to force my mouth open like that," the woman retorted. "Just leave him alone. You can see that he's had quite enough of you."

Swearing under his breath, the man stormed off. Crouching down in front of the little engine, the woman took out her mobile phone, and she dialled a number.

"Jim? I've found him. He's in the far left-hand corner. Okay, good. See you soon."

After the woman had put her phone away, she looked up at the little engine with a warm smile. That surprised the little engine. For most of his life, he'd always been the one looking up to humans. Now, he was looking down at one. He stared down at his coupling, feeling very uncomfortable. Then the woman began to speak.

"Well, now that we're alone, why don't you tell me your name?"

The little engine didn't respond. He hadn't spoken to a single human in over seventy-five years, and he wasn't prepared to start now. The woman reached up to stroke the little engine's cheek, but he growled threateningly.

"It's all right," the woman soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you."

But the little engine didn't believe her, and so he lashed out to try and bite her as well. Luckily, the woman's reflexes were fantastic, despite her age, and his teeth missed her.

"That's very, very naughty!" the woman scolded him in a tone he'd never heard before. She actually sounded disappointed with him, rather than angry. For a moment, he felt very confused. He'd expected her to be angry, or at least hit him just like that nasty man had done, but she didn't.

A group of very important looking men joined them then. They looked sadly at the little engine.

"Why don't you take a closer look at him, Mr Pearson?" the stout gentleman suggested. "I'm sure you'll be able to tell us what needs to be repaired on him, to get him running again."

One of the men climbed inside the little engine's cab. Since the little engine was a fifteen-inch miniature engine, his small cab was fitted with a proper padded bench seat for his driver. Taking out a torch, Mr Pearson began to examine the inside of the little engine's firebox. The little engine promptly tensed up, and he closed his eyes tightly.

 _Please, don't hurt me! Just don't touch me! Please, just go away and leave me alone!_

"Do we know this engine's name?" the tallest gentleman asked.

"His name is Alex," another gentleman said as he approached the group. Alex opened his eyes again when he heard the familiar voice. The gentleman offered his hand to the stout gentleman. "Sir Topham Hatt? I'm James Wilson. We spoke on the phone."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Wilson. Let me introduce you to the rest of the syndicate. These gentlemen are Sir Handel Brown and Mr Fergus Duncan. The gentleman inside the cab is the foreman of my Works, Mr Jim Pearson. And this is his chief assistant, Ms Ellie Briggs."

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you. As I explained to you on the phone, I've taken care of the late Mr Taylor's collection for the better part of thirty years. Haven't I, Alex?"

Mr Wilson very gently punched Alex's cheek with his fist. It was meant to be a friendly gesture, but the scowl on Alex's face strongly suggested that the friendliness was not reciprocated.

"What can you tell us about Alex?" Sir Handel Brown asked.

Mr Wilson rubbed his hands together. "Not that much, I'm afraid. He was built in 1935 to service a secret coal-fired power station somewhere to the north of Vienna. He had five brothers, all of whom have been scrapped. He would've been too if it hadn't been for Mr Taylor."

The gentlemen nodded in understanding. Alex fixed his gaze firmly on the Jeep opposite him. He hated being reminded of his brothers' scrapping, so he just focused on keeping his emotions bottled up. That wasn't difficult anymore. He'd bottled up his emotions many years ago. It was the only way he'd been able to keep his sanity.

"Is there anything else you can tell us about him?" Mr Duncan asked.

"Yes. It's believed that when the Nazis took over the power station after the Anschluss, they took possession of Alex and his brothers. We don't know what happened to them during the war, but I suspect that he was…um…" Mr Wilson lowered his voice, and he leaned in closer. "I believe that the Nazis carried out some cruel experiments on him, which resulted in him finally breaking down. He was found rusting away inside the run down engine shed at the power plant, along with some very strange devices. We can only guess what they were used for, but if they did what I suspect they did, then poor Alex has had to suffer a lot for no good reason. I have some photos of the devices if you're interested."

"Maybe later," Sir Handel Brown said dismissively.

"There is one thing you should know," Mr Wilson added thoughtfully. He rested his left arm on Alex's right-hand water tank. "Alex has never spoken a word to us since Mr Taylor purchased him. He didn't know if Alex used to speak, or if he's a mute. We did suspect that maybe he just couldn't speak English, but we've never heard him say a word, so we can't be sure. I actually suspect that the experiments might have had something to do with him losing his voice."

Alex stared sadly down at his coupling. That was partially true.

"How do you know his name is Alex then?" Sir Topham Hatt wondered.

"His nameplates were still attached to him when he arrived here. Even though he's never spoken, he seems to respond to his name through eye contact. He usually looks up at us whenever we start talking about him."

Mr Pearson climbed out of Alex's cab. He wiped some grease off his hands with a rag. "Considering he's been on static display for the better part of seventy years, he's in pretty good nick. His tube plates will need replacing though, along with his tubes, and his motion gear will need some attention too, but his boiler's in near new condition. He's been very well looked after, considering he was owned by the Nazis."

"Oh, they didn't bother to look after him," Mr Wilson said. "Most of his present condition is the result of the heavy overhaul Mr Taylor put him through after he rescued him."

"I see," Mr Duncan muttered.

Alex momentarily closed his eyes again, and he shuddered visibly. That overhaul was not something he cared to remember either.

Sir Handel Brown shook Mr Wilson's hand. "Thank you very much for taking the time to provide us with that information. We'd like to spend some time looking at Alex ourselves, if you don't mine."

"Oh, of course! Please, go right ahead. I have to go and meet with another syndicate now anyway. God luck in the auction!"

Once Mr Wilson was well out of earshot, the three gentlemen gathered around Alex, looking at him closely.

"Well?" Sir Handel Brown finally prompted. "Do you think we should make a bid on him?"

"Definitely," Sir Topham Hatt replied without hesitation.

"But he comes with a lot of problems," Mr Duncan protested. "Psychological problems, I mean. He might have shell shock or something like that, which could explain why he can't speak. I have enough problems to deal with without having him to add to them."

Alex swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat. He'd been listening very closely to what was being said about him, and despite his distrust of humans, these men sounded like they wanted to get him running again. _But what for?_

Sir Topham Hatt looked at Ms Briggs. "And what do you think we should do, Ms Briggs?"

She looked a little bit surprised, but she managed to compose herself quickly. "I believe every engine deserves a chance, sir."

Sir Topham Hatt nodded. "So do I."

The two other gentlemen didn't look convinced, but then they gave in.

"All right," Sir Handel Brown agreed. "We'll bid for him. I suppose we really don't have much of a choice." He looked at Mr Pearson. "How long will you and your team need to get him running again?"

Mr Pearson scratched the top of his head thoughtfully. "If we pull an all-nighter, I say three days, including tests. That is assuming he ends up passing all of his tests."

The three gentlemen nodded.

"We'd better go and register then," Sir Topham Hatt said. "I'll go and do that, while the rest of you find us some seats."

…

Half an hour later, the auction began. Alex listened attentively for his lot number to be called. Finally, after about an hour of mad bidding, he heard the auctioneer call his number.

"Next we have lot thirty-five. This is a very rare fifteen-inch gauge steam tank engine, based on the design of the steam engines that currently operate on the Zillertal Railway in Austria. It was built to work at a secret power station somewhere north of Vienna, but it was taken into Nazi possession after the Anschluss. After the war, this engine was discovered in a terrible condition inside a shed at the power station. It was brought over to England where it was persevered for static display. Can I have a starting bit of three thousand pounds, please?"

Nobody moved.

"All right, can I see an opening bit of two thousand pounds, please? Thank you! I'm bit two thousand pounds. Can I see a bit of three thousand pounds? Three thousand I'm bid!"

Alex held his breath as the amount continued to rise. He could see the three gentlemen sitting towards the back, in full view of the auctioneer. He could also see the nasty man, and a few scrap metal dealers lurking in the large crowd. Some of them were bidding for him.

The nasty man raised his paddle. "Fourteen thousand!"

"I'm bid fourteen thousand!" the auctioneer called out excitedly. "Hold on! We've just had an internet bid of fifteen thousand!"

"Sixteen thousand!" a scrap metal dealer bid.

Alex saw the stout gentleman shake his head. Then, Sir Handel Brown whispered something to him. The stout gentleman raised his paddle high in the air.

"Twenty thousand pounds!" he declared, making some people in the room gasp. Even the auctioneer was a little taken aback.

"Right! I'm bid twenty thousand pounds by the gentleman in the back. Are we all done at twenty thousand pounds?"

The room fell silent.

"Going once? Going twice…"

The silence lingered. Alex saw the nasty man scowl crossly, but his didn't raise his paddle. The auctioneer slammed his gavel down.

"SOLD!"

Alex closed his eyes. His fate had now been sealed, and he now had a new owner. Or was it owners? He wasn't sure.

 _It'll be okay. Nobody could ever treat me worse than those horrible Nazis did. I just hope that whatever they do to me won't be painful or drawn out. I couldn't go through that ever again._

 **Wow! Thank you so much for those positive reviews! This story will have a lot of heartache in it, so I am very grateful to Speckless Nougat for letting me use Ellie and Jim again. I'm intending to use them to bring some lighthearted moments into what would otherwise be a very sad story. The character of Alex is based off a little secondhand Lilliput oo-9 scale model train that my boyfriend bought for me over a year ago. I hope you've all enjoyed meeting Alex now. Again, I promise you that despite the heartache, this story will have a happy ending. After all, what Thomas story doesn't?**


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